


What Sort of Blue?

by Amurtinyburr12



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Cop!Dick Grayson, Police, Police Officer Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amurtinyburr12/pseuds/Amurtinyburr12
Summary: Dick has two uniforms, both of them are blue. This is a collection of stories from Grayson's time as a police officer. Seriously, that's all this is.





	1. One Way To Get Out of a Ticket

**Author's Note:**

> I felt there wasn't enough Police!Dick fanfiction in the world and that really made me sad. So, I'm here to provide for the masses.
> 
> I should also mention that almost all of these stories are based on real events. I don't have any plans to connect any of these stories but I might if I feel like it could work.
> 
> I WILL ALSO TAKE REQUESTS so if you've got an idea don't be shy to ask. I'll definitely write it for you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's plenty of ways to get out of a speeding ticket. Though some are more conventional than others.

Sometime in mid afternoon, two minutes until the end of his patrol, Dick hears the roaring of the engine. He's currently sitting in his standard cruiser, feet up on the dash and a box of cereal in his lap. He's also unironically bopping his head to the beat of Rick Astley's _Never Gonna Give You Up_ but that isn't important. 

What's important is the problem he's about to have.

Dick can't help but groan, a little sadly, as he closes up the box of  _Crocky Crunchies_ and reverently places it onto the floor of the passenger side. As he tilts his chair back into a driving position and gingerly places his feet back on the pedals, the officer turns his head to look out the back window. Just as he'd suspected, a sleek red Dodge Challenger is racing up the intersection, blasting past honking cars and swearing civilians.

As the car speeds past him, Dick tries not to feel sorry for himself as he pulls out of the median he's been parked in and gives chase. One flick of a switch and his siren is on, blaring loudly as he tails the Challenger.

It isn't like he hates his job - far from it, actually. Being a police officer allows him to do what Nightwing can't and vice versa. And handing out traffic tickets isn't the worst gig either, though most of his buddies would protest. It's just that sometimes people can be...less than agreeable.

Dick's eyes narrow as he realizes the Challenger has no intention of slowing down, though the driver has obviously registered the officer behind him. He puts a little more emphasis on the gas so he can edge closer to the vehicle and get a good read on their plates. Not from out of state so that rules out a few possibilities.

The two cars are about to exit city limits and Dick swears once he realizes the car is beginning to swerve back and forth uncontrollably. Just great - an intoxicated driver. The perfect way to end his shift, which actually should have ended a minute ago.

The beep of his shoulder radio coming to life distracts Dick for a moment but he keeps his eyes locked on the road. _"Officer Grayson, 10-101?"_

Dick does his best to suppress a grimace before he presses down on the communications button. "10-106. Currently in pursuit of a suspect who may be a 10-55."

 _"10-4."_   The radio buzz melts away and Dick refocuses on the swerving vehicle. If the driver doesn't pull over soon, Dick may have to do something drastic. And _ugh,_ he just wants to go home and snack on his _Crocky Crunchies_.

Finally, FINALLY, the Challenger slows to a stop, a good half mile outside of the city. Dick doesn't bother to push down the tidal wave of annoyance quickly building in his gut and immediately climbs out of his car. Without preamble, he marches up toward the driver, one hand in position to reach for his gun. Exposed out here in the open, it would be very easy to be shot at. God only knows what sort of psychos live in Blüdhaven and Dick isn't about to be caught unawares by some trigger happy alcoholic.

He has half a mind just to go ballistic on this reckless driver but really, he doesn't have the energy for it.

As he nears the car, a tinted black window rolls down to reveal a young disheveled looking man. His hair is unkempt, but in a roguish sort of way. A bright white streak runs through the man's dark locks but that isn't what really stands out. His green eyes are slightly watery, but it's obvious the suspect is attempting to hide that fact with a light smirk.

"Evening officer," The man greets Dick with chipperness, though there's something hidden underneath his tone that suggests everything is not as it appears.

Dick tries to get a read on the other man but it's too difficult to tell if he's drunk, or something similar. "Do you understand why I pulled you over?"

"Mmm," The man nods slowly as if he really has to think about it. "Probably because I broke some of your road laws. I swear it wasn't on purpose."

 _Oh really,_ Dick mentally rolls his eyes. Outwardly, he keeps the facade of a calm, put together police officer. "That's correct. I'm going to need to see your license and registration please."

Something flashes in the man's eyes at Dick's words but he attempts to retain his smug exterior. "Do I have to hand it to you?"

What sort of question is that? Dick frowns, "Yes."

The man seems a little panicked at that response and Dick wonders if he's got weed or something in his glove box. He doesn't comply right away, instead staring at his wheel in a dejected manner looking as if his life might be over. His eyes keep fluttering down toward his lap, then back to the wheel. Dick might have asked him if something was wrong if he wasn't so keen on getting this patrol over. 

"So, funny story actually," The man begins in a tone that insinuates the story isn't funny at all. "Both of my hands are actually occupied at the moment. I don't know if it was noticeable, but I couldn't really drive in a straight line. Um...on account of my hands."

"Both of your hands are occupied," Dick repeats, not quite believing the young man. "Occupied with what?"

The other man smiles a little sheepishly, all traces of arrogance completely gone. "This is actually really embarrassing. Do you think you could just take my word for it?"

Dick takes a half step forward, not answering the question and peers over the window and down at where his hands should be resting. It takes Dick a moment to register what he just saw and when he does realize he jolts backward and in his haste nearly falls right on his ass.

The guy's got his hands wrapped around a plastic water bottle. That's not really abnormal - what is surprising is what's inside the bottle.

The man laughs a little uncomfortably. "Um...yeah. I'm really not trying to make excuses, I swear. I just really needed to use the bathroom and my apartment is still a ten minute drive from here."

Dick keeps his eyes trained on the sky, though that's pretty much against all police protocol that he's ever learned. He really can't bring himself to care at the moment. 

"Is it stuck?" He asks in a voice that he hopes is neutral. In his minds eye the image embedded there is vividly clear.

The man glances down at his lap again and seems to jostle his...bottle. "Yeah," He confirms. "Stuck pretty good."

"Okay," Dick breathes out a calming breath, _inhale, exhale_ , as he debates with himself on what the proper response to this would be. "You're not intoxicated? Drugs?" 

The young man laughs genuinely at that. "No, officer. Just stuck."

Dick takes a look at his watch. 8 minutes past his shift. "Okay well, sir...what's your name?"

"Jason. Jason Todd, sir."

"Okay, Jason. Do you think you can get it unstuck on your own?" _God, please say yes_. This is so not what Dick had in mind when he joined the BPD.

"Yeah," Jason sounds a little uncertain but it's clear that he's not very keen on having Dick help him with the situation either. "If I can get home, I think I know what to do."

"Good," Dick replies, a little flustered over the whole scenario. He wonders if he's as red as he feels. "Carry on then. Just, please obey the speed limit."

"You're not going to give me a ticket?" Jason blinks owlishly, confusion evident.

Dick swallows, still trying to keep his eyes on Jason's upper half. "No, I think you've got bigger problems."

"Oh, okay. Appreciated, officer." Jason starts his car again, though a little timidly as one hand is still trying to hold on to his current burden. "Have a good night."

"You too..."

Dick walks back over to his car, wondering exactly how someone gets themselves into that kind of situation. At the same time, he doesn't really want to know.

_"10-101?"_

Dick settles back into his cruiser, trying to think of how he'll explain this to the chief. "I'm fine," He ends up saying. "10-106. False alarm."

_"10-4. See you back at the station, Grayson."_

Dick heaves a sigh as he watches Jason's Challenger shakily return to the road. 

_What sort of man gets their dick stuck in a water bottle?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10-101: What's Your Status  
> 10-55: Intoxicated Driver  
> 10-4: Acknowledgment/Okay  
> 10-106: Secure
> 
> Based on a real story


	2. Everyone Can Be Bought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dick finds Damian doin' an illegal. Can Damian buy his way out of this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in Gotham and let's just say Dick is part of the GCPD in this chapter.

"Tagging public buildings is illegal," Dick leans himself comfortably against the side of the alleyway, eyes almost lazily observing the small boy in front of him.

Said kid goes stock still for a moment, before he tilts his head to peer over at Dick with such intense brown eyes that it very nearly pierces his soul. The kid isn't tall, has a black hoodie drawn up over his face and it's blatantly obvious from his size that he's far too young to be roaming the streets of Gotham by himself.

The boy seems to get over his initial shock as he lowers the paint can and his lips pull up into a sneer. "Public buildings, was that?"

Dick shifts his position a little, leaning his weight more into his back. "If you want to graffiti kid, do it on something you own, okay?"

The boy scoffs at that then just turns away from Dick and continues to emblazon the wall with a black spray paint can. Carefully noted are the several other paint cans discarded at the young kid's feet along with a few loose leaf papers. "If I'm not mistaken, this is the Wayne Enterprises building?"

It's obviously not a real question but Dick feels obligated to answer anyway. "That's right. I'm not sure multi-billionaire Bruce Wayne is going to be happy with..." The officer tilts his head to get a better angle at what the boy has been painting. "A giant dog devouring people." As grotesque as the image is with all the dismantled human body parts, Dick has to give credit where credit is due. The kid is an extremely talented artist.

"What's the worst Wayne could do?" The kid gives a dark chuckle, still spray painting a bold outline onto his work. "Send me to bed early?"

Dick stiffens with sudden realization, though he hopes it isn't obvious on his face that he'd had no idea who this kid was before he said that. _Of course_ he's run across the mini Wayne tagging a building. Why can't he just help a few old ladies across the street and call it a good patrol? At this hour, of course that's like wishing for pigs to fly. All he's really certain to get is a shoot out, a few prostitutes and some addicts roaming the streets.

Still, Dick kind of wishes he'd come across a gang. The legal perimeters of this situation are already giving him a splitting headache.  _Does the kid technically own this building too?_

"Damian Wayne," He acknowledges albeit a little reluctantly. "Shouldn't you be in bed at this hour?" Dick already knows what time it is but he makes a show of looking at his watch for Damian's benefit. "As I recall, minors have to be in bed at eleven. It's one in the morning."

"Don't worry about me," Damian finishes off the bottle of black paint then lowers his hood. He's smiling but there's nothing kind in it. "I can take care of myself."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Dick agrees, not even a little bit surprised by the ten year old's answer. "But I am going to have to take you home. You can talk with your father on your own about the mural you've embedded onto his building."

Damian turns to face Dick fully and sets down the paint can. He has a cocky air about him, as if he's used to always getting what he wants. _He is the son of Bruce Wayne,_ Dick reflects. _He probably does._

"I'll give you a hundred dollars to leave me alone."

"Sorry, kid. No can do."

The boy scowls darkly, and it's obvious he hadn't expected this answer. He takes a couple long strides forward so he's standing in front of the cop. He's impossibly small, or perhaps it's just seems that way because Dick has grown used to dealing with larger men.

"Alright Officer," Damian squints at the nametag. " _Grayson_. I see your tactic. Two hundred."

Dick can't help but smile to himself. It would seem that this bargaining trait ran in the family. "I don't accept bribes," He tells the kid matter-of-factly.

"That's what everyone says," Damian retorts back without missing a beat. He surveys Dick like he's a slab of meat at the butchers shop and it makes Dick a little uncomfortable that a ten year old is capable of having such a sharp intelligence in their eyes. "You're weak and you've got a price. _Everyone does_. Name it."

"Not everyone can be bought," Dick replies simply, pushing off the wall so he can move forward to stand in front of Damian's masterpiece. Damian trudges after him, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Dick risks looking over his shoulder at him for half a second, noting the defensive stature Damian has taken up. "This is a very good painting," Dick admits, thinking to himself it would be sort of a shame if Wayne hired someone to paint over it.

" _Tt_ ," Damian stares down at his shoes. "Father would not see it that way."

"Probably not," Dick confirms, eyes still tracing the graffiti in front of him. "Does it represent anything?"

The kid seems hesitant to tell him and really, Dick can't blame him. He imagines if he was Damian he wouldn't tell a policeman anything so he adds, "Don't think of me as an officer right now. For now, I'm just an interested passerby."

"Okay," Damian agrees, voice softer than it was a few moments ago. "It's a metaphor. A metaphor for what's wrong with Gotham."

Dick studies the large dog, a rottweiler by the looks of it, and it's deadly looking fangs. In its enourmous jaws it clutches the body of some poor little boy and at it's feet are a pile of bloodied bones. "The dog is a symbol for the corrupt," Dick looks down at Damian to see if he's right.

Damian cocks his head, a floof of dark hair falling into his eyes with the motion. "Seems you're not as incompetent as I'd originally thought," The boy shrugs slightly. Dick thinks it might be the closest thing to a compliment he'll ever receive from the young Wayne.

"You don't have to tell your dad you did this," Dick finds himself saying before he's even really aware of it. "But I do have to take you home."

To his surprise, the kid just nods his assent. 

The drive to Wayne Manor is short and filled with silence, but Dick doesn't mind. The kid is somber in the passenger seat but every now and then his eyes flutter over to look at the man who caught him committing a crime. Dick doesn't say anything about the glances, instead keeping his gaze firmly locked ahead. He wishes he knew what was going on in the ten year old's mind, but he's almost one hundred percent certain this won't be the last he sees of the young Damian Wayne.

As they pull up to the driveway, Dick slows the car to a stop and looks over at Damian seriously. "There's one thing you have to do for me Damian, okay?"

The boy looks up from his folded hands and meets Dick's gaze with the same stunning intensity he displayed in the alleyway. "And what's that?"

"Never stop painting. Maybe not on buildings but don't ever stop. Got it?"

Damian looks thoroughly surprised at this change of events but agrees nonetheless.

As he steps gingerly out of the cruiser and starts up the steps to the mansion, he stops and turns to look back at Dick, a small smile gracing his features.

Dick thinks Damian looks much more like a normal kid when he's not all scowls and glares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't based on a real story. I just want to get a chapter out with each of the Batboys haha. If anyone is wondering, the one with Jason WAS based off a true story that one of my friends told me.


	3. Don't Jump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Dick misreads a situation and Tim nearly dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is also set in Gotham. At this point, we should probably just assume that Dick transferred from Blüdhaven to Gotham. It makes more sense and if I do tie all of these stories together then that would explain the change of setting.

Dick's just stepping out of the GCPD for his lunch break when he notices the dark outline of a shadow on the sidewalk, a few feet down the street. Curiously, he scans the area for the source, at first not seeing anything that could be the owner of the shadow. His heart very nearly skips a beat when he realizes that there's a figure sitting, alone and hunched in on themselves, on top of the station's roof.

Horrified, Dick considers calling up to the person but ultimately decides against it. From their elevated height and with today's abnormally heavy winds it would be near impossible to get his voice to carry that far.

Cursing quietly under his breath he quickly rushes for the fire escape and begins ascending the ladder to the top. Simultaneously, the officer rips his radio from his shoulder and calls into the dispatcher. "Possible 10-46. I'm going to check it out. I'll call if I need backup."

" _Copy_."

The roof doesn't have much on it other than gravel spread along the length of it, a few random pipes and ventilators and bird shit. The one thing that stands out, and the only thing Dick cares about is a skinny figure across the way from him. Based on the attire and height this person shouldn't be any older than seventeen. It's hard to discern because this person, a boy Dick realizes, has his face half turned away from the ladder. He's clearly concentrating though there's no telling on what. He's also changed from his previous sitting position to a low crouch and is leaning over the edge with his eyes closed and his arms held slightly aloft next to him. His clothing is simple, nothing more than a red t-shirt, an ill fitting black North Face jacket and dark ripped jeans.

 _Darker colors,_ Dick thinks morbidly to himself. _Funeral-esque._

Dick can't help but feel drawn to the kid's facial expression. It's the most alarming thing about him, other than the fact that he's balanced on a ledge that's over a fifty foot drop. Dick can't recall ever seeing anyone anyone look more tired than the teenager in front of him. Heavy bags under puffy eyes blend with pale skin and tousled black hair. Here on this ledge with his eyes closed tightly and the skyline of Gotham before him, the boy looks frail and vulnerable. Alone.

**"Don't jump!"**

The teenager's eyes snap open, startled, and he turns to look over his shoulder. In his surprise his body jerks forward. Too late, Dick realizes his grave mistake. He should have approached - _he shouldn't have yelled._ Horrified, Dick finds his limbs won't move. And oh God, he's paralyzed. From this distance, something in him registers that there's no way he'll reach the boy in time.

As the boy topples over the edge, Dick feels helpless to do anything but watch. He hates that feeling. The kid's face is one of pure terror and it spreads to his eyes as he registers the policeman. Before anyone can say anything else he's falling, plunging toward the Gotham streets and - the kid twists his shoulders slightly toward the ledge.

One hand snags the building's edge and _he barely stops it_. But he's done it. He's caught himself.

Dick immediately jolts forward. His instincts are on high alert, it feels like he's on overdrive. Once he arrives at the edge he thrusts an arm out and latches onto a pale wrist, being sure to maintain a firm grip. All he can think about is how this could have gone differently - how he'd almost _killed_ a child. The notion is enough to make him feel sick...but it's fine, right? He's alive.

 _This isn't over yet Grayson_ , he reminds himself. _Concentrate._

"I've got you," Dick promises, straining with effort as he struggles to pull the boy over the ledge.

"I swear to God if you drop me," The boy answers, voice slightly high and a little shaky.

"I _won't._ " Dick grits out through clenched teeth. He's got something of a death grip on the teen's wrist; the muscles in his arms shaking with the exertion of pulling him up.

After a few more seconds, Dick hauls the kid over the ledge and the two fall bodily onto the rooftop. Panting hard, Dick takes a moment to catch his breath before looking over at his charge.

What should he say? _I'm really sorry I almost murdered you?_

Before he can get anything out, the teen speaks first, "Holy shit!"

Dick stares at him, thinking the response is certainly appropriate. "I'm so sorry," He starts but is cut off not a second later.

"I nearly died," The kid whispers, eyes wide but...not exactly terrified. " _Holy shit._ "

"What's your name?" Dick asks, trying to remain calm for the boy though his nerves feel frayed as well.

"Tim," The dark haired teen answers softly, eyes closing as he lays sprawled on the rooftop.

"Tim," Dick repeats, shifting himself up into a sitting position. He deliberates on how to play this situation but can't think of what's proper so he asks, "What were you doing up here alone?"

 _It looked like you were about to jump,_ goes unsaid. Both of them are most certainly thinking of Dick's first words to him. _Don't jump._

The kid, Tim, raises an eyebrow at that though he doesn't seem annoyed. "I'm not suicidal," He states bluntly, eyes reopening as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. The blade of accusation is pointed straight at Dick and he feels himself flush. However, he pushes away the self-guilt for now so he can concentrate on what the boy is saying.

"I like heights, although..." Tim peers down the side of the building and shivers ever so slightly. "Maybe not quite as much now."

"You enjoy heights so much that you climb public buildings and stand right on the edge?" Dick can't quite cover his disbelieving tone. 

At this, Tim shrugs and then instantly winces at the motion; clearly too much for his aggravated shoulder. "I'm not exactly an adrenaline junkie or a thrill seeker. I just enjoy the sensation. It's like... _flying_." There's something wistful about the way he says it that Dick can relate too. His days at Haly's Circus revealed to him the power someone could feel when taking to the air, the rush of unequivocal adrenaline he felt from the complex maneuvers and the trails of wind that used to float through his hair.

"I feel alone, but in a way that makes me feel connected," Tim continues, lips tugging upwards into a sheepish, nostalgic smile. "If I close my eyes, I feel the world flashing past me, cars driving below, people talking and... I can sense all of it. The pulse reverberating through the streets and the lights thrumming all around us. It's the heartbeat of the city."

"I think I understand what you mean," Dick nods, a faint smile of his own appearing. "However, I'm not sure I can authorize a minor climbing public buildings and putting themselves in danger like this."

The teenager is obviously very clever - it's something Dick noticed almost right away. He's been trained to profile people and Tim is someone he can pinpoint as a genius on the spot. It's in his eyes.

"I thought as much," The boy concedes. "I don't imagine I'll be doing this very soon again, anyway. Once I do, I'll be sure to do it when you're not on shift."

Dick laughs at that, tilting his head back as he does. "Not exactly what I meant, Tim."

Tim turns thoughtful at that, features softening as his gaze falls to his lap. "I don't know what else would satisfy me."

Dick tries not to wonder what sort of life this kid lives that he feels the need to escape up to the rooftops to feel...what was it? Alone, but in a way that makes him feel connected? The statement is vaguely concerning and Dick ponders asking him about it. But he finds himself enthralled with the words instead and how strangely beautiful it is.

"I'm not saying this is even close to the same thing," Dick moistens his lips. "But, you should try your hand at writing poetry. Something about how you described being on that ledge was really unique. You've got a way with words."

"Poetry," Tim actually looks at his hands as if picturing them scribbling down a few stanzas. "That might be interesting."

"And no more roof climbing?" Dick prompts. In truth, he wouldn't dream of stopping Tim from coming up here. It would feel wrong. Not after the way he detailed what it meant to him. 

Tim hesitates at the question. He pushes off his elbows and pulls himself into a sitting position. "No more roof climbing?" It's not an agreement.

Dick focuses on the scared undertones in Tim's voice. It's almost funny how he appears more afraid at the prospect of not being able to come up anymore then he was about almost dying.

"Okay," The officer relents, attempting to sound at least a little authoritative. "If you want to come up, don't stand right on the ledge. And if you're going to do that..." Dick can't believe he's saying this. "At least call me first, okay? That way we can get a harness or something on you. At the very least, I can at least observe and make sure you're safe."

Tim nods fervently. "I can do that, officer." A sly smirk comes around his face. "However, I think we can both agree that this is for your sake."

"You're clumsy."

"I've never had a problem with that before," Tim replies.

"Fine," Dick rolls his eyes good naturedly. "If you checked in with me, it would keep random police officers from coming up here and shouting at you. Wouldn't want you to slip because of that would we?"

_"I can't even imagine."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10-46: Attempted Suicide
> 
> I don't really know if I like this one as much. It's actually my least favorite but I feel it's appropriate for Tim. We'll have more with him, of course. Humor and then one explaining why Tim goes onto rooftops by himself. 
> 
> I've decided all of these stories ARE connected but the timeline may vary. IF one is not connected, I'll mention it in the notes before. Sometimes I just want to write without connecting everything, ya know?


	4. Hindsight is 20/20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Ramóne fall right into the Tempter's delicious trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This still connects with the other fics, but could standalone. Only one mention of the other chapters. See if you can find it :) It's just crack, mostly, so also skippable. (No Batfam in this one.)

Dick thought he should have listened to his own concerns when Ramóne said there was a large unidentifiable object outside the police station. He could have just gone home and watched TV but...hindsight was 20/20.

The older man, slightly overweight and with a balding head, had been staring out the blinds from his office window with a perplexed look on his face for a few minutes before he grunted loudly and glanced around the room. "Will someone come with me to check whatever that thing is out? It's too dark outside for me to tell what it is."

Andrews scoffed as he reclined lazily in his swivel chair, feet up on the desk and hands absently solving a Rubix Cube. "This is Gotham. There's weird stuff all the time. If it's a bomb from Joker or somethin' I ain't want nothin' to do with it."

Ramóne just rolled his eyes and turned to Pelligreno who appeared to be the only officer doing work. "C'mon, it'll give you a break from your silly vandalism cases."

Pelligreno glanced up from the mountain of papers piled next to her, mouth curling into a frown. "Vandalism is not silly. Besides," She looked at her watch. "My 18 hour shift is done in seven minutes. You can bet that in 20 minutes I'll be home, in my pajamas and making love to my pillow."

Dick listened to the exchange curiously as he leaned on a file cabinet, next to the humidifier, while pretending to read the newspaper. He had to agree with Pelligreno, though the two of them didn't agree on much. (Seriously, 'coup' is pronounced 'coo'.) He'd forgotten his caffeine earlier today, to begin with. Secondly, this was his fourth 10 hour shift in a row and it was 2 am. He was supposed to be done in seven minutes too. The prospect of snuggling up in bed and watching some well deserved Netflix far outweighed the idea of going outside and possibly, making more work for himself.

 _That's not corruption,_ Dick told himself, reflecting on what Bruce might say if a police officer refused to investigate something to avoid exertion.  _It's called being tired as hell. Someone else can look at whatever Ramóne is babbling about later._

Somehow, those thoughts hadn't reassured him.

"Isn't this _our_ duty?" Ramóne had turned so he was fully facing the whole room. He'd thrown up his meaty arms up in agitation. "As officers of the law, we are bound by the law to go inspect it. How can any of you call yourselves police officers?"

Dick had made the mistake of shifting his gaze up from his (upside down) newspaper. Too late, he realized that the other policeman was also staring right back at him. Dick attempted to redirect his eyes back to the pages he held but it was no use. He was a fish who'd already grabbed hold of the hook.

"Grayson," Ramóne crossed the room in four enormous steps and slung an arm around his shoulders so forcefully that Dick had to steady himself against the cabinet. "You're always spouting righteous proverbs about 'doing the right thing' and whatnot. Makes you the perfect partner for this mission."

Dick shrugged the other man off of him, but mustered a good natured grin of his own. "I wouldn't say they're proverbs. Just things to keep you going."

 _Like Netflix,_ he added in his mind mournfully.

"Whaddya say? Come outside with me? I bet it's nothing."

Dick suppressed his groan and looked up at the older man. By no means was Grayson short and yet, here he was being dwarfed by the other officer. 

He tried to muster a polite "thanks, but no thanks" but he just couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Sure. Probably is nothing." And with that, he tossed the newspaper to his desk, missing it by several feet, and walked toward the door.

* * *

 "Do you think they're poisoned?"

"I think you're nuts for even considering taking a bite out of those."

"What could be the end goal behind this though?"

"Like Andrews said, it's Gotham. Anything could happen."

The two officers stood side by side, pondering the situation in front of them. 

Ramóne shifted the beam of his flashlight to the side of the large cardboard box in front of them. It was at least tall enough and wide enough to accommodate one, maybe two, grown males that was for sure. It also explained why Ramóne was so paranoid about the strange object outside the station. It certainly was an odd sight.

The box was propped up at a 33 degree angle by a long plastic pipe. Underneath it, hidden partially by shadows, lay three powdered donuts.  It was set up identical to how one might attempt to trap an animal.

Dick pointed his own flashlight at the side of the box which read, in scraggly handwriting:  **FREE DONUTS.**

"This is stupid," Dick voiced aloud, though he couldn't quite hide his amusement. He circled the large 'trap' trying to figure out what the motive behind it would be. "No way could anyone think that a police officer would fall for this."

Ramóne blinked owlishly up at Dick from the kneeling position he'd taken on the ground. One hand lingered in the air, obviously on it's way to snatch a donut from underneath the box.

"You're kidding me," Dick wasn't quite sure how to react. "Those donuts show up here, without context, and you're going to eat one? Do you know where they've been?"

"Sheesh, mom," Ramóne grumbled but withdrew his hand anyway. "They could be a sign of good fortune."

"That's pretty optimistic of you," Dick frowned but crouched as well to get a better view of the inside. Something small and light dangled from the ceiling, attached to a nearly transparent string. Dick pointed his flashlight at it. Money. $500, from the looks of it.

Five hundred was no trivial thing. Like a kid making a Christmas list, he thought of all the things he could do with the bill dangling in front of his face. He could pay off some of his bills. He could finally get a working iPad. He could probably get an ice cream from Coldstone with that much cash. Dick swallowed, eyeing it with distrust but at the same time...

A hand on his thigh stopped him from crawling forward - something Dick hadn't even realized he was doing.

"Woah, woah, woah," Ramóne put his hands up in a 'what the fuck' sort of way. "I can't eat a donut, but you can go grab that cash?"

Dick considered this, probably a little too long if the incredulous look on Ramóne's face is anything to go off. "Uh, well...money can't be poisoned."

The other officer snorts. "Maybe not like food, but it's a poison of it's own."

The younger policeman couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at that. "Now look whose turned into the parent."

The two kneel in silence for a few seconds more.

"Should we..." Dick jabs a finger back in the direction of Gotham PD. "I don't know, tell Gordon about this?"

Ramóne looks conflicted, but he doesn't shoot down the idea. "That would be reasonable." He paused and then sighed, "I'm just so hungry."

Dick's eyes traitorously circled back to the 500 dollar bill dancing in front of him. Growing up without parents had been hard. He'd to pinch and save to enter the police academy in Blüdhaven. Money, wherever he could get it, was treasured.

"We deserve rewards for coming out here," Ramóne appeared to be trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Dick couldn't help but nod his agreement. He and his partner (for the moment) sheathe their flashlights and move forward. Dick didn't say anything about Ramóne putting his flashlight away too, but he did think it was stupid that both of them refused to hold one. Dick felt he'd been generous coming out here. The other man could have kept his light on.

The problem was, both men attempted to crawl under the box at the same time and without any light it was difficult to navigate. Dick knew he could have gotten that money without even touching the sides - he's flexible and light on his feet. Ramóne was basically the opposite.

The other man's elbow knocked against the strange plastic pipe holding the whole contraption up and the whole thing comes down on top of the police officers.

It didn't hurt, but it was fairly annoying to find that Ramóne had collapsed on top of him in addition to the uncomfortable feeling of squished pastries against his leg.

"Dude," Dick grunted, attempting to shuffle out from underneath the other officer. "Get off me."

"Where'd my donuts go?" Ramóne groped around blindly, but stopped after he probably thought through the implications of feeling around in the dark when in such a tight space with someone else.

"Why'd you knock over the box?" Dick ignored his question, part way to distract him from the donuts that he's sure are ruined now and partly because he genuinely wanted to know how he'd even managed that.

"I thought I was going first," The other cop shrugged, which was ill advised because the movement squished Dick into the floor even more.

"The money was in back. It would make more sense for me to go first. Now, please get off me?"

Ramóne nodded, not like Dick could see it, and started to scramble off. Only to stop all of the sudden.

"What's wrong?" Dick asked, straining to turn his head in the dark. He wasn't claustrophobic, thank God, but no one could enjoy the feeling of an overweight policeman squashing you to death.

"This isn't a cardboard box." Ramóne sounded confused. "The walls are metal. They looked just like cardboard."

This is just what Dick wanted. To be trapped in a stupid metal not cardboard box prison with donut squished underneath him. His shift is supposed to be done in a few minutes. "Can you lift it up?" He made himself ask, voice light even though he felt anything but light right now. (Seriously, Ramóne must seriously pack away the donuts when he's off duty. He's heavy as shit.)

"Uh, well, I-"

A noise from outside interrupted whatever Ramóne was about to say. "I see you've fallen into my trap! Ha! Gotham's brightest, I see!"

It was a screechy voice, high and needy. Sounded every bit like a textbook psycho criminal, though Dick was certain he'd never had the misfortune of hearing this person speak before.

"Who are you?" He shouted through the metal prison, and didn't bother to hide his irritation.

"Who am I?" The voice was put out. "I'm the Tempter! All of Gotham will bow to me, after I hold two of its policeman hostage!"

Ramóne laughed, and Dick wished he wouldn't because it crushed him all the more. "You think Gotham is going to bow to you because you have some of the officers hostage? Good luck, buddy."

Tempter snarled at that and he must have kicked the box because all the sudden a wall jerked forward and smashed Dick right in the nose. "You're probably wondering why this cardboard is so heavy. Can't move it can you?" A dark chuckle, though not nearly as sinister sounded as he probably was going for. "Bit of magic cloaking. Easy spell that only needs a bit of concentration."

Magic wasn't anything new in Dick's life - he'd seen the strangest things in Gotham. It was weird though, that someone had used it to lure a few policemen into a donut/money trap.

"Oh, I think there's a lever to open the box, here." Ramóne tugged at something next to him. "This guy isn't good at making traps."

"That's my ankle and I don't know, we fell into his trap didn't we?" Dick replied as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They needed to work together - conflict between them meant more time he didn't get to be at home in his bed. "Can you get my flashlight," He dropped his voice to a whisper after unsuccessfully attempting to free a pinned arm. If they could just see, maybe they'd be able to get out of here.

"Um," Ramóne pats Dick's ass but doesn't seem to realize what it is because he keeps feeling around for the flashlight.

Dick flushed and after a few unsuccessful seconds, he finally barked, a little louder than necessary, "Never mind. Just get yours."

"Oh, right." The other cop mumbled and after a few arduous seconds there was an audible click and light flooded the box.

It was so bright that Dick had to close his eyes for a moment before reopening.

"Excuse me!" Tempter yelled from outside, obviously angry about being ignored. "I'm talking to you!"

Dick frowned, doing his best to look around the box with a wall directly in his face and barely enough room to tilt his head. "Sorry, what was that, Temper?"

"It's TEMPTer," The psychopath offered helpfully.

"What's this plan of yours again?" Dick examined the wall in front of him but if he was being honest, there wasn't much too examine. It was wall. A magic wall. Which meant, he was a bit out of his element in terms of dealing with it.

"I'm going to use you as hostages," A reverberating noise echoed through the box, and Dick wondered if their trapper had just sat down on top of them. "I'll threaten your lives for the key to Gotham city. I'll be the mayor by the time the sun sets tomorrow." He sounded proud of himself.

"Who would want to be mayor of this hellhole?" Ramóne guffawed. Again, Dick begged whoever was listening in the universe, to lend him a hand.

And, somehow, someone must have listened to his prayer.

A gunshot rang out, clear as day, in their ears. "Let them go!" That sounded like...Pelligreno? 

A shout came from someone - Tempter? - and after a few seconds of scuffling and loud cries the box dissipated from around Ramóne and Dick.

Quickly, the two scrambled apart. Dick immediately began picking donut from his pants and tried to ignore the saddened expression on Ramóne's face when the cop took notice of what the other man was doing. 

"What the hell?" Pelligreno looked down at them, one red faced skinny "Tempter" at her feet. The criminal was handcuffed and it looked like a bullet had gone right through his arm.

Dick didn't really enjoy shooting, or having anyone shot but he didn't say anything. Instead he chuckled at the ridiculousness of what just happened. "Thanks for saving us. Uh...I guess it was a trap."

Pelligreno nodded knowingly then tossed Tempter toward the pair. "My shift is up. I'm leaving so you get to process him." And with that, she hailed a cab.

Ramóne looked at the whimpering Tempter who had curled into the fetal position. Apparently all his bravado had vanished from a single bullet wound. "That was cruel," He told the psychopath, matter-of-factly. "Donuts should be valued. I'm taking you in." He pulled the trembling man to his feet and looked over his shoulder back at Dick.

"You coming? I don't blame you if you leave. This was my fault."

Dick kind of agreed, but he also felt responsible. He'd wanted that money. "No," He heard himself say. "I'll help you."

As the other officer turns to haul their new charge back to the station, Dick looked back at where the box used to be.

The $500 was there, laying on the cement, string still connected although not to anything except the bill.

Ah, what the hell.

Dick snatched it up, pocketed it, and followed Ramóne back inside.

"Hey, man. Tomorrow, you and me? I'll buy you some donuts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a Tumblr post. (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/524528687831262625/?autologin=true) 
> 
> Complete fluff. We can't be serious all the time, right? (Actually, I guess none of these stories have been very serious.)
> 
> Batfam next chapter!


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